|
He leaned in and whispered as he turned the page |
|
And he said, "Make yourself into a flame" |
|
A crazy old lion with his hair all backlit |
|
Grinnin' like a little boy who has a secret |
|
And I do not know its name |
|
Though it's ever entwining |
|
And I believe it must look |
|
Like an old man shining |
|
We were eatin' summer peaches |
|
By a roadside stand |
|
Juice running down like laughter |
|
On our chin and on our hands |
|
When we were done, we looked around |
|
And smiled at each other |
|
And you said"Come on, Carrie, let's have another" |
|
And I do not know its name |
|
No matter how |
|
I tryBut I believe that it must taste |
|
Like peaches eaten by the roadside |
|
He drove a rental car shuttle |
|
To the airports on |
|
SundaysWe chatted that gray morning' |
|
Bout the choir he sang with, |
|
Wednesdays |
|
He sang a haunting gospel hymn |
|
Shameless and clear |
|
With only me, a wandering stranger |
|
Sitting there to hear |
|
And I do not know its name |
|
Elusive and subtle |
|
But I believe it must sound |
|
Like that man singing in the shuttle |
|
Standing in the river, barefoot in the current |
|
I hear the sound of a bird call and |
|
I try to learn it |
|
The water is a wonder, it's cold and fast and deep |
|
I saw the fish go swimming out too far for me to reach |
|
And I do not know its name |
|
Swimmer or watcher |
|
But I believe that there is always something |
|
Moving beneath the water |
|
If holy is a sphere |
|
That cannot be rendered |
|
There is no middle place |
|
Because all of it is center |
|
I do not know its name |
|
I do not know its name |
|
I do not know its name |
